


Out of Reach

by ninjanerd1001



Category: Batfamily - Fandom, Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But with aliens, Fluff, Gen, I need a life doods, Idk if it's technically graphic but it's got lots of ouchies, Just another Apprentice fic, Like two plots going on at once, Loooottttssss of ouchies, Not actual time travel, Only rated teen for angst, Someone told me to put this on here, That's the angst right there, Time Jumping, ouchies, you'll figure it out - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-07 12:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16854304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjanerd1001/pseuds/ninjanerd1001
Summary: The former apprentice of Deathstroke is missing. No one knows where he's gone, including his betrayed teammates and innocent associate. A new player is on the field, and they have the world in their sights.But how did this all come to be?I wanted this to be a sequel to Son of Deathstroke, but I never finished that, so now it's a rewrite.





	1. Falling from the Light

It was a pleasant night. Crickets sang in the brush. The pavement under the streetlight glistened with rainwater from a gentle sprinkling minutes earlier. The clouds, no longer burdened with their load, gave way to a clear sky and a full moon. And a single figure relaxed beneath the dim illumination, quietly watching the nightlife live.

The dark-haired teen sighed contentedly as an owl hooted in the distance and a pair of moths flitted around the light. It was the first peace and quiet he'd had in weeks, and he wasn't planning on wasting it on distractions. He was going to relax, and he was going to make the most of it.

He leaned against the light post, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He listened to all the sounds around him, the echoes of nature continuing on her course.

A dog barked.

A housecat quietly pawed its way through the foliage.

Somewhere behind him, a twig snapped.

A squirrel chattered angrily.

_Pretty sure squirrels aren't nocturnal._

He let out a deep sigh. He didn't move, but now he was alert. It was probably just a lost hiker or something, but it paid to be prepared.

Then he heard the clicks.

He had no idea what was making the sound, but he knew it wasn't anything good. At best, it was probably a lost... what, giant frog? He didn't even know if there were frogs on the continent that sounded like that. And they were rapidly closing in on him in a way that left no room for doubt: they were coming straight for him.

He set his jaw and braced himself to tear his backpack open to grab what he needed. They were getting close. They were trying to get as close as possible without alerting him, then they were going to jump him. They were just inside the shelter of the trees now-- three of them. They were far bigger than any pack animal he could think of. He would have said they were human, were it not for the strange clicking noise. In a world aware of a universe filled with aliens, he'd have to put his money on extraterrestrials.

But by then they were moving.

One lunged forward. He rolled away from it, pulling his backpack off one shoulder as he went. Before he came to a stop, he'd already opened it and pulled out three knives in his right hand. He glared at his attackers to see their positions and was startled to see humanoid creatures with red armor and strange staves running at him.

He quickly brushed off his uneasiness and threw his blades at the creatures, one at each. He was annoyed and somewhat alarmed when they all deflected the blades with their weird staves and continued forward, apparently unperturbed by a teenager carrying knives.

You never can catch a break with aliens.

Grumbling about stupid aliens and stupid Fortuna, he grabbed the belt with his knives from his bag and slung his backpack, somewhat lighter, back over his arm. He fastened the belt around his waist and started sprinting down the road toward the small town from where he'd come. He could reach it fairly easily if he could outrun--

Lasers. They had lasers in their staffs.

Of course they had freaking--

_Don't dwell on it. Get to the woods. They can't aim as well through trees._

Rolling to avoid being shot, he made it to the edge of the trees without injury (though he did roll right over a sharp pebble once, which hurt). He glanced once over his shoulder before taking off into the woods, where he could finally--

_Wham._

"What the--"

He looked up from where he'd fallen and saw an immense black form, illuminated only by what little light from the moon and streetlamp filtered through the trees. It almost seemed like a sheer wall, but as he looked, a head and shoulders gradually became apparent, and he realized-- this was a person. But no-- no human was that big. This thing was huge-- and there were two weird appendages over his shoulders that looked like--

He scrambled back as fast as he could. Whatever it was, it wouldn't do him any good. He stumbled to his feet, running away from the mountain of a creature and heading toward what he was fairly certain was the town.

There was a roar in his ears.

He was suddenly on his stomach, the wind completely knocked out of him. He gasped to try and fill his lungs with air, but they weren't working as they should. Which was pretty standard for getting the wind knocked out of you.

He struggled to stand, falling flat on his face more than he'd like to admit. After several attempts, he finally managed to get to his knees without falling, starting forward before a large, unknown force pressed into his back, shoving him back down into the detritus of the forest floor. He let out a muffled grunt as the force pressed against him, shoving him farther into the dirt.

Then, in an indescribably deep voice, the creature spoke.

"Nice try, meat," it croaked. Now, normally, croaks aren't all that intimidating. But this thing? It had the most masculine, intimidating croak he'd ever heard. It sounded like it had swallowed a toad the size of Niagara falls after murdering its family.

He lifted his face out of the dirt, blinking pieces of decaying leaves off his eyelids. "What do you want?" he asked in what should have been a much more commanding tone than it was.

"The meat deems itself worthy to speak." The intimidating toad almost seemed to have laughter in its tone as it pressed him back into the dirt, the contents of his backpack adding to his discomfort as he found himself reacquainted with the soil. He clenched his fist around the dead leaves of the previous autumn, gritting his teeth at the indignity of it all. How could he have been taken down so easily? He could have done so much to avoid this, and yet here he was. His face full of dirt.

The pressure lifted, allowing him to breathe air instead of decomposed plant matter again. He lifted himself onto his elbows, allowing himself to gasp for air if it meant getting the aliens' (because that's what they had to be) guards down.

They started talking to each other in a language that made sense regarding Intimidating Toad's voice-- they spoke in clicks. It sounded like someone was dragging their finger along a giant comb's teeth, but with saliva or something involved. Maybe underwater. In any case, their form of communication was utterly unintelligible and meant nothing to him. Because of that, he wasn't particularly concerned with what exactly they were saying, and therefore could focus on how the heck he was going to get out of there.

They seemed distracted. But how long would that last if he took off running? Not at all. But he couldn't attack this mountain of an alien. And he  _certainly_  wasn't about to wait around to see what they had in store.

_To heck with it._

He launched himself forward to his feet with his elbows and toes, sprinting as quickly as he could go. At this point, he'd given up on any sort of direction.  _Away_  was his best (and only) bet now.

Trees flew by on either side of him. He slid under and leaped over fallen trunks, just trying to get as much space between him and them as possible. He glanced back over his shoulder. He couldn't hear them. Did that mean...?

He barely stopped in time to avoid slamming into Toad Mountain a second time. But by then, the huge thing had already grabbed his shirt, leaving him staring at the colossal figure before him. He could now barely make out the eyes-- the only distinguishable feature of its form, impossibly far above him.

"Let's make sure this doesn't happen again." Toady lifted him bodily by his shirt and stuck its arm under his chin. But suddenly it wasn't an arm; it was some kind of strange ray gun. The part now forcing his chin up, keeping him from coming up with some witty retort, was a smooth, round ball. As he lifted his hands in what he knew would be a futile attempt to free himself, he could feel some kind of stick or rod attaching it to a much larger barrel.

Suddenly, he could see the thing's face. And it did very little to make it more terrifying  _or_ humanize it. Frankly, it was underwhelming.

"Farewell, meat."

Suddenly, his ears were filled with a sound he could barely hear. It was impossibly high and impossibly low at the same time, while also impossibly loud. He gasped as the sound ricocheted around in his skull, seeming to tear his brain in two. Dark spots danced in his vision, and he gave up on fighting the thing. Maybe they just needed a new king for their ancient primal civilization and were awful at English.

Though it was a farfetched thought from conception.

«←¦→»

The mercenary peered through the scope of his high-powered rifle at the woman three floors below. His finger was curled loosely around the trigger, patiently awaiting the perfect moment to strike.

Beside him lay an extra case of bullets, though he knew he wouldn't need them; he never missed.

The woman turned to her bodyguard just outside the room where she stood. They exchanged a few words, then she turned to the balcony door.

The mercenary's finger curled imperceptibly inward.

"Deathstroke," a gravelly voice behind him greeted.

"Batman." He tried not to let his impatience show as the woman paused to speak to her guard again. "I suppose you're here to stop me?"

"That wasn't my intention, but since I'm here, I'm sure I'll do that as well."

He didn't take his eye off his target as she went to the bar to get herself a drink. "Then what's your intention? As much as I know you love to stand around sounding intimidating, you seem to be taking your time with everything else."

"Have you heard from Dick?"

At the question, the mercenary finally turned around, his eye narrowed. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do. And I think he may have gone to you after he disappeared."

Deathstroke rolled his eye and returned to looking through the scope. "He's a free spirit. He does what he pleases."

Batman took a step forward. "You raised him. You also taught him to come back to you when he didn't have anywhere else to go."

"He outgrew me. I haven't heard from him since he joined your cub scouts."

Batman's lips drew in to form a thin line. "I know you spoke to him while he was working with me."

The woman started to come back toward the door. "If you don't mind, I'm going to finish what I came here to do."

"No, you aren't."

The mercenary sighed. "Then I supposed we'll just have to have to have a good old-fashioned debate."

«←¦→»

"Are we sure we  _want_ to find him?"

"How can you--"

The redhead sat down hard in the plush chair behind him. "I'm sorry. I want to make sure he's not running loose just as much as the next guy, but are we sure we... Do we really want to see him again? After what he did?" He rubbed his chin with his palm. "Maybe he does deserve another chance. But I just don't know that we can forgive him that easily. And what if he hasn't changed? What if he actually wants to kill us?"

"Wally--"

"No, I'm done. I've said my piece. Make your choice how you want, but this is where I stand."

Artemis pursed her lips thoughtfully. She knew that what was going on couldn't be just what lay on the surface, but she wasn't sure of her convictions otherwise. What he'd said... There were just so many interpretations, and--

"Artemis, what's on your mind?" M'gann was watching her closely. "I can tell when you're distracted."

The archer crossed her arms. "I... It's complicated."

"What's new," Wally grumbled.

Artemis drew a deep breath. "I think... I think he wanted me to die."

Needless to say, everyone's expressions were some combination of shock and confusion.

"Doesn't seem complicated to me," Conner said simply.

She shook her head. "No, no. That... came out wrong. I think he wanted me to pretend I'd died."

"Dying and faking your death are two different things," Wally said dubiously.

"He kept saying stuff before... it happened. It was all super vague and confusing, but..."

"And you think him being confusing meant you should kill yourself."

Artemis glared at her boyfriend. "Look, it might sound crazy, but he knows what he's talking about."

"Do  _you_ even know what he's talking about?"

"Wallace Rudolph West, if you interrupt me one more time--"

He held up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right! My lips are sealed!"

Artemis huffed. "If he says we have a shot at infiltrating the Light this way, I say we have a shot."

Wally looked at her for a moment. "But that still leaves the question: Are we going to look for him?"

«←¦→»

"Come on! Hurry!" Their feet pounded on the cement.

"Slow down!" They both panted for breath.

"I can't! You have to go faster!" The distance between them was growing.

"I can't!  _You_ have to chill!" They were almost out of sight of each other.  
  


"I want my double chocolate brownie! I am going to get my double chocolate brownie!"

The dark-haired boy stopped, resting his hands on his knees. "You go ahead. I'll catch up," he called.

The blonde girl giggled and turned around, starting to go back toward him. "Come on, you lazy bum."

He sighed and stepped forward, holding his side. "Now I have a cramp. Thanks a lot."

She crossed her arms and leaned next to his ear. "I have several," she whispered.

"Okay, okay, we're getting your ice cream now," he chuckled.

She grabbed his wrist. "Then hurry up!"

They walked the remaining block to get to the Moe's Corner Store. She led him inside by his wrist and headed straight to the freezer section.

"Now remember that we can't get the whole stock." He chuckled as he leaned against the door to the frozen pizza.

"But Tiiiimmmmm," she whined.

"Steeeeppphhhhh," he whined right back. "Neither of us is made of money, and Moe isn't made of Ben and Jerry's."

Stephanie pouted. "Fine." She grabbed two pints of the chocolatey craving. "Let's go."

They headed to the cash register, Tim pulling out his wallet. Steph set the ice cream on the counter and the balding man running the register rang them up.

"Quiet night," he commented as Tim gave him a handful of bills.

"It is," Tim agreed as Steph pulled a plastic spoon out of her pocket and started eating her ice cream. He chuckled and took his from the counter, then waved to the cashier. "See you around, Moe."

"Stay out of trouble," he called back as the two teens walked out of the store and into the street.

Steph got halfway through her carton before she spoke. "He would run to the store for me, not make me come too."

Tim, only about a quarter of the way through his own, looked confused. "You've lost me. Who are we talking about again?"

She giggled, putting her hand to her mouth as she swallowed again. "Sorry. I meant John." She flicked a spoonful of ice cream too big to eat back into the carton. "I miss him."

Tim nodded understandingly. "Ohhh. Yeah, it has been a while, hasn't it?"

She sucked on her spoon pensively. "I hope he's okay."

Tim smirked, doing his best to not pull out a spoonful of just brownie. "His sporadic rooftop visits were endearing."

Not noticing his sarcasm, Steph nodded. "He really helped me, you know."

Tim picked at his ice cream with his spoon. "Yeah. I know what it's like to lose a parent. I'm just glad he found you when he did."

She shoved an enormous spoonful of chocolatey goodness into her mouth, ending the conversation.

"What do you say we go back to your place and watch sappy movies?" Tim suggested.

Steph nodded, the spoon still in her mouth.

Tim moved comfortably close to her as they turned toward her apartment. "You're lucky it's not a school night," he jabbed.

Steph narrowly avoided snorting ice cream up her nose. "So are you, boy weirdo."


	2. Acquainting with Shadows

"Dick. Stop making faces at your food."

"Who's that?"

"...Renegade. Stop making faces at your food."

"I'm not. You're not even looking at me."

"Well, I can tell you're not eating."

"Broccoli is nasty."

"It's also healthy, and you have to eat healthy food in order to stay in top condition."

The boy scowled at the plate before him. "It's a plant. What about a plant will help me stay in  _top condition_? I thought you said you'd train me, not give me nasty food."

Slade turned around, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. "Would you rather eat nothing?"

In response, the raven-haired boy picked up his fork and reluctantly speared a piece of the greens. His lip curled as he studied it.

"I'm waiting."

He glanced up at the mercenary for a moment, then plugged his nose and put the broccoli in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed quickly, then made a gagging noise. "There, happy?" he asked Slade.

"Only nine more to go," he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

«←¦→»

"Why'd you pay off the security guards when you could've just taken them out? That was a waste of ten thousand bucks."

"One of them could have sounded the alarm if we didn't see him in time. And it's easier to ask for floor plans and schedules from someone whose palms are greased a little than someone whose brains are splattered everywhere. Plus, there's less cleanup."

"Hmph." He turned back to his scope. "Where is this guy, anyway?"

"Right now? He's pulling up in that limo there. But in about two and a half minutes, he'll be in his suite noticing his strange lack of security."

"And I just... shoot him? Through the window?"

"The windows are reinforced, but there's a window by the bar that's always open a crack. I used my greased palms to have it opened a bit more. He'll go to get his evening drink, then you can take your shot."

" _You_  don't need the window open further."

"Maybe, but  _you're_ still learning. Maybe next time I'll let you try and take an impossible shot."

"Mph."

"You seem fond of that particular expression."

"It conveys what I have to say."

"And how eloquently."

"I see him."

"Is he at the bar yet?"

"I don't think you have to ask me that, and I also don't think I need to tell you in order to know for myself."

The mercenary's eyebrow lifted. "All right, mister independent. You want to do the next contract yourself?"

The preteen set his jaw and curled his finger around the trigger. He took a deep breath. Then he fired.

«←¦→»

"Good evening, gentlemen."

 _Click, click._  "What're you doing here?"

"Please lower your guns. I'm just here to talk."

"Whatcha gonna do, punk? Cry to momma?"

His expression grew hard. "Very well then."

 _Wham. Thwack._  "Gah!"

"Where is your employer?"

"Lemme go!"

"I could dislocate your shoulder right here, or you could just answer my question. It's up to you."

"Who are you?"

"That's none of your concern. Now answer my question."

"He-- he's outta town! He left yesterday!"

"What's going on here?" a voice rasped.

The teen stood up and turned to face the newcomer. "I take it you're Two-Face. And not out of town."

The villain chuckled. "And who're you supposed to be? Halloween come early?"

"I'm an associate of Deathstroke. I believe you owe him something."

"An associate, eh? I thought he worked on his own."

"Things change."

Two-Face fiddled with a coin. "Hmm. What to do, what to do."

"Pay him back and I'm gone," the teen offered.

"No, not that. I was wondering..." He flipped the coin and looked at where it landed in his palm for a moment. "...what to do with you."

The dark-haired barely had time to dodge the bullet fire. "This would have been easier if you'd just paid him!" he yelled as he leaped around, then climbed into the rafters.

"For you, maybe," he chuckled in his gravelly voice. "But for me, this is much too fun to miss."

Bullets ricocheted off the steel beams under him, bouncing back towards the floor below, one of the men cried out in pain, clutching his leg, no doubt hit by the bullets so carelessly fired.

"Watch it!" the teen yelled down. "You could hurt somebody else!"

The rain of bullets paused momentarily. "An associate of Deathstroke, you say? I wonder what he'd have to say if I killed his brat." It started again with renewed vigor.

"What to do, indeed," the teen muttered as a bullet narrowly missed his hiding spot. He tapped the radio in his ear. "He said no," he said into the communicator.

"Is that him I hear in the background?"

"The automatic submachine gun? Yeah, that's him."

"Do you need me to come?"

"Well, you could. But I also think I've got this covered."

"If you say so. I'm on standby, though."

"Won't need it." He tapped the com again, turning it off. "Alright, Scarface," he muttered. "Let's see what you've got."

"Where are ya, kid?" Two-Face paused again. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

A shadow raced along the beam. He followed it with the flashing muzzle of the gun, laughing maniacally as he shot bullet after bullet at his quarry. A moment later, a similarly-sized shadow dropped limply to the ground behind a crate.

"Gotcha." He smirked as he went to see his prize.

He peered over the crate to look at what he'd shot, grinning triumphantly as he saw--

_Wham._

"You don't seem to see that well for having two faces."

"RaaAARGH!"

He stepped back to avoid the lunging lunatic. "Somebody's mad," he chuckled.

"I'm gonna tear you in two!" he roared as the teen flipped behind a support column. "There won't be anything left for Deathstroke to associate with!"

"Nice threat. Still not gonna happen!" he laughed, somersaulting under the psychopath's swinging arms. He slid to a stop with a hand on the floor. "You should work on your aim."

"You should pay more attention to where you land," the ex-district attorney growled.

"I mean, there are some crates suspended over me by some sketchy-looking cables, but that wouldn't be very hard to--"

_Thwack_ _._

"And you might notice that behind you is a faithful thug, waiting for his chance to strike."

The teen lifted himself to his elbows, shaking his head to clear it. "Ow," he muttered.

Two-Face took the baseball bat his thug had used to attack the mercenary. "You really ought to be more careful, kid. You might get hurt."  _Whack_. The mercenary struggled to keep himself from yelping as he fell back to the ground, his shoulder screaming in pain. "And we wouldn't want that." Disregarding the pain, his lifted his head to glare at the sociopath as the supervillain raised what looked like a grimy Louisville Slugger for another hit.

He swung, and the teen braced himself to roll over and grab it.

_Clunk._

The teen blinked in surprise as the bat came to a sudden stop. Then he lifted his eyes further.

"Get. Away. From my. Kid." Deathstroke held the end of the bat in one hand, glaring at Two-Face with an unprecedented fury.

The villain struggled to free his weapon from the mercenary's iron grip. "What're you doing here?"

"You refuse to pay me. You insult me to my face and behind my back. You try to steal my weapons. And you have the nerve to beat my kid with a branded piece of wood?"

Two-Face's eyes grew wide. He opened his mouth, probably to speak, but nothing came out.

"Hmph." The mercenary's fist planted firmly in his jaw, sending him staggering back. His voice was full of contempt as he said firmly, "I'll be back for my payment tonight. Don't wait up." He turned to his apprentice, who was now standing and rubbing his shoulder. "Let's go, Renegade."

The teen nodded readily, and they both stepped confidently out the warehouse door.

«←¦→»

"Hello? Is someone there?" There was no response. "I heard you over there."

A face framed by ebony hair lifted briefly over the far side of the dumpster, then disappeared.

"Hey, I don't want to hurt you."

"I doubt you could."

The redhead approached him slowly. "Look, I just want to talk." He finally rounded the corner and saw who he was talking to.

"There's nothing to talk about." The teen, who couldn't be much younger than Wally himself, was leaning against the wall beside the dumpster, loosely holding the strap of a sling around his shoulder. His hair, though messy, looked fairly clean, as did his clothes. His eyes were downcast, and he appeared tensed, ready to bolt at any moment.

Frowning slightly in thought, Wally sat down next to the other boy and angled his body toward him. "What happened to your arm?" he asked casually.

"None of your business."

"Maybe. But that doesn't mean I don't care."

"Hmph."

"Come on. It's not like you're ever going to see me again.'

The boy was quiet for a moment. "It was a baseball bat."

Wally's eyebrows shot up. "A baseball bat? Who hit you with a baseball bat?"

"A bad guy a couple weeks ago."

"What do you mean, a bad guy?"  
  
The boy lifted his gaze to glare at Wally. "Must you be so pushy?"

The redhead's jaw dropped. "What happened to..." He tapped his own cheekbone to indicate the other teen's swollen purple eye.

The dark-haired boy immediately lowered his face. "Drop it," he muttered.

"I don't think I can."

"I fell."

"I've had plenty of experience falling--"

"I'm sure you have."

"--and I'm pretty sure you don't get that big of a bruise in that shape from falling."

"But I did. So there," he said with finality.

There was a brief pause. "Is it your dad?" Wally asked quietly.

"I told you, I fell! Can't you just leave well enough alone?" the boy snapped.

"Except it's  _not_ well enough," Wally insisted.

"Oh, shut up. What do you know?"

"I know it's not healthy to be in this sort of condition," he said firmly. He then noticed the makeshift splint around his ankle. After a moment of internal debate, he asked more gently, "You make that yourself?"

"Yeah. My... my father taught me how to years ago."

"Cool."

"Yeah. He's taught me a lot."

"Like what?"

"Well... everything I know. I know how to make a splint, how to stop bleeding. I know how to hotwire a car, and can hold up in a fight."

"Do you have to fight a lot?"

The boy looked at him for a moment. "You  _do_  realize you're not being subtle at all, don't you?"

Wally couldn't help but flush. "Well, I'm sorry I'm worried about your safety," he snapped.

"My safety is none of your concern! Who even  _are_ you?" The smaller teen stood up abruptly, clenching his jaw to probably resist the pain in his ankle. "We're done here." He walked away briskly.

Wally stood up and sprinted after him. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Home, dum dum. De-- Dad'll be wondering where I am." The small, dark figure turned around to face this annoying ginger that, for some reason, he'd decided to trust, however briefly. "I didn't have to tell you anything that I did. Don't push your luck."

"But--"

He waved over his shoulder. "See you never, Blaze."

«←¦→»

"Your scapula is cracked."

Renegade nodded ruefully. "Figures."

Deathstroke pulled out a box filled with bandages. "You should be more careful. You could have been killed."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He winced as the mercenary began tightly wrapping his shoulder with bandages. "I messed up bad."

"Care to rephrase that?"

He rolled his eyes. "I messed up badly," he corrected himself.

"There you go. In any case, count yourself lucky."

"What, that you were so  _kind_ to help me bandage my shoulder? Or that you decided that a cracked scapula was enough punishment?"

He yelped as the bandage around his shoulder was suddenly yanked painfully tight. "Yes," Deathstroke answered firmly. He tapped the wrappings on his apprentice's shoulder. "You're done."

Renegade stood up slowly, flexing his lower arm but careful to keep his shoulder still. "Where are the slings?" he asked.

"Same place they've always been," Deathstroke answered as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Renegade crossed his legs, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath.  _In, out. In, out._ After several minutes of rhythmic breathing, he finally relaxed enough to get off his bed and follow Deathstroke out into the hall.

The walls of the building were simple, a monotonous blue-grey hue. Function was valued over appearance, and it was the best paint for the lowest price at a time when there was marker, blood and multicolored paint everywhere. The lighting consisted of a series of floor and wall lamps spaced out to maximize energy efficiency. There were several doors in the hallway, but most of their rooms were empty or largely unused aside from storage.

Though it looked boring, it was for good reason: it was a temporary hideout. If they got attached to it, it would be harder to abandon it upon its discovery. So they had only the basic necessities in the hidden basement of a largely abandoned apartment building.

Renegade opened the cleanest white door in the hallway, walking inside and shutting the door behind him. It would take a while to get the sling down from the shelf and onto his arm, and he didn't want Deathstroke walking in on him perched precariously on poorly stacked boxes again, especially after what happened last time.

However, he soon discovered that he barely needed the stool he'd already grabbed, much less the stack of boxes he was ready to place underneath it. Had it been so long since he'd needed a sling...?

Once he pulled the sling from the shelf, he got down from the stool and started adjusting it. He was surprised to realize that he had to make it considerably larger than it had been for him last time. When  _was_  last time? He'd needed it when Two-Face had almost shattered his other shoulder... a year ago? 

Wow. Maybe it  _had_ been a while.

Once he got it to the right size, he put it on slowly, careful to avoid hurting his shoulder any more than it already was. He flexed his fingers as his bent elbow rested in the corner of the fabric, nodding in satisfaction at its proper positioning.

He stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind himself. What would they be having for dinner? It had been a while since they'd had dinner together. They probably wouldn't tonight, but it was worth hoping for.

"You're out." Renegade turned to Slade, who was standing where the door had been a moment before. "You aren't forgetting the next assignment, are you?"

The teen slid the strap on his shoulder to try and make it more comfortable. "Right," he sighed. "The big one."

"You have everything you need, I trust?" His tone said otherwise.

"I just need to get it all together, and yes. I'm ready," he answered firmly.

"Good. Because you're starting in twenty minutes."

«←¦→»

 _Keep running. Just a bit farther._ He struggled to keep his breathing even as he stumbled across the rooftops, cursing his luck and his planning.

Of  _course_ he had to have the bright idea to have assassins hunt him down. "It'll be more realistic," he'd said.

Yeah. More realistic. That assassins would just leave him pummeled  _almost_ to death on a rooftop with nothing but his clothes and his name (if he didn't lose his memory from the concussion he'd probably get). That Deathstroke would hire assassins to discipline his apprentice instead of just doing it himself. And that he'd just let him rot, semiconscious, on the rooftops of Gotham  _just_  long enough for Batman to find him.

_Realistic, my--_

"Assassin!" he yelped as he narrowly avoided decapitation.

_Perfect. Let's get myself killed, shall we?_


	3. Sparks and Connections

It was quiet. Peaceful, even. That was a nice change. There wasn't much to see. It was dark. Maybe a bit cold. Not uncomfortably. But cold. But the air was kind of... old. Stuffy. Not exactly suffocating, but... closed in. Not moving.

Bright shining lights.

_"Ladiiieees and geeyentlemennnn!"_

Clicks.

_Screaming._

"Meat."

_Crack._

_"I'll help you."_

"New meat?"

_"You betrayed us!"_

_"Go join your parents, circus freak."_

"It seems to be stabilizing."

_"My mom is... she's...?"_

_"I can help you get stronger."_

_"I can help you go down the right road."_

_"I can help you understand the emotions you're undoubtedly feeling right now."_

_Crack._

"NOOOOOOO!"

His eyes snapped open.

_We're not in Kansas anymore._

His eyes drifted around, taking in what he could see through the red glass of... what was he in? Some kind of... containment... pod... thing... with metal bands pinning his wrists to the inside of the pod. But what was he doing in--

_"Farewell, meat."_

_Screaming pain ricocheting in his skull._

Oh. Right. ...That.

He heard the clicks again coming from somewhere far away, though they were getting closer. He looked around the room, and his surroundings only unsettled him more. He was toward the side (against the wall, probably?) of a chamber with walls that looked like the muscles of an enormous beast (he tried not to think about it too hard) and an alien computer in the center.

A door opened to his left, and he realized that the clicks had merely been muffled by it (made of what looked like thick metal). And in walked Toady itself, now accompanied by two considerably smaller, more human(?) aliens. In the new light, it was just about as intimidating as before, but in a different way. Now it was no longer an ominous enigma, but it also had its cold, cruel face (and those weird pincer thingies over its shoulders) to compensate. Under different circumstances, he might have made fun of how much the other two aliens were dwarfed by Toady's mere presence, but now he waited apprehensively, forced to do nothing but wait as they continued clicking (and now apparently gargling) in their strange language, approaching his alien container at an agonizingly leisurely pace.

The slightly smaller of Toady's associates, in pink, turned to the strange computer, all the while talking, and diagrams of what looked like a human body appeared with labeling in their alien tongue all over it. He grew distinctly uncomfortable as he realized-- that was  _him._ They were examining him like a particularly interesting test tube, or a slightly-less-boring sample of a bacteria culture. He didn't have much personal experience with science experiments, but he already was feeling sympathy for guinea pigs.

The other alien, a green one, spoke to the pink one, probably asking a question, and the pink one replied. Then Toady cut in with its frustratingly intimidating giant comb voice. The comb though-- it was the biggest on the planet. It was an ocean of insects the size of Ontario. And the bugs were the ones that big. There was still the ocean to fill. (Wait. Insects. The pincers. The thing was going for a  _bug_ aesthetic, of all things.)

He watched, completely clueless and absolutely helpless, as they looked from him to the diagram to one another and back again, all the while probably talking about him.

  
Man, he hated not knowing what people were saying about him.

"Yes, hi?" he called to them, absolutely terrified that they might see how terrified he was. "Could you, I don't know, tell me what's going on? I just woke up more disoriented than I have in my life and I haven't been able to remedy that." He was amazed that he managed to keep his voice steady.

"The meat brings itself to speak." Toady had a small smirk on its face, a gleam in its eye, and contempt in its tone as it turned to him. "Give it a taste," it said over his shoulder. The pink one (Pinkie? Pinkie.) nodded obediently and pressed some buttons on the computer, and two strange claw things emerged from the back wall of the pod and pressed into his shoulders.

"I just asked a quest--"

He knew electric currents when he felt them. He'd felt them time and time again before.

But familiarity doesn't always equal comfort.

He felt the current surge through him, triggering spasms in each muscle it touched. His shoulders burned where the claws sent wave after wave of pure energy through his body. He realized he was screaming when he ran out of air and struggled to bring more past his aching throat and into his spasmodic lungs. Spots danced in his vision. He tried to lift his hands to free himself from the agony, but they stayed trapped by his sides.

Then he could breathe again. His muscles finally relaxed. The burning stopped. The spots in his vision disappeared. His head hung low as he panted for breath, composing his thought in a way that used more words and less animal screeching.

"Ow," he finally breathed.

"This the rest of your miserable life, meat," Toady croaked. "You'd best get used to it now."

"I'm gonna get out, Toady. Don't waste your breath." He smirked despite his pervasive terror.

The dark alien roared with laughter. "It thinks it can escape!" Its fist slammed into the pod by his head, and it lowered its face just enough to look into his eyes. "There is no escape," it said, still smirking. Then it stood straight and strode out the open door. Green followed it, and after another moment at the computer, Pinkie did as well.

"Bet," he muttered rebelliously.

«←¦→»

"You've seemed more... on edge lately," Tim commented.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? (Watch out on your right there.)"

"What makes you think I'm on edge?"

"Well, you've snapped at me at least four times in as many days, you haven't been sleeping  _or_ eating nearly as much (which wasn't much to begin with), and there's also the bit about..."

"What?"

"Oh, I don't know, the fact that you just brutalized a baker's dozen of street thugs without even noticing that I didn't jump down with you?"

Bruce stopped, panting lightly as he surveyed the unconscious and groaning thugs around him. "Can it wait until we find the cache?"

Tim hopped down from the rafters. "I mean, there  _is_ such a thing as walking and talking."

The dark knight sighed and headed in the direction the weapons stash was supposed to be.

"Okay, spill. You've been distracted lately, and if I can tell, so can someone else who you don't  _want_ to." Bruce continued walking for a moment, then Tim added, "I could always get Selina to have this talk with you."

"All right, fine," Bruce sighed. "Do you remember me telling you about Dick?"

"The totally-not-a-murderer-or-double-agent first Robin? Yeah."

Bruce gave him a warning glance, then continued, "I can't find him."

Tim's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You actually can't find him? Like, it's not the thing where you give them slack or have it narrowed down and just can't--"

"I can't find him. For a while, he left a trail for me to follow. It was almost like he wanted me to find him. I kept tabs on him, but never got around to confronting him."

"And then the clues stopped," Tim guessed as he kicked a locked doorhandle.

Bruce looked one of the crates inside the room. "I lost all track of him somewhere between Blüdhaven and a neighboring town. There was evidence of a struggle, but no signs of where any of them went afterward. I've been trying everything I can think of." He looked in a second one, then added, "The GCPD will be glad to see this cache off the streets."

Tim nodded slowly as realization dawned on him. "So that's why you talked to Deathstroke."

"And why I've been distant."

"More distant than usual, you mean," Tim corrected.

"Did you contact the GC--"

"On their way. But why didn't you tell me about the whole thing with Dick? I could've helped you."

Bruce pulled out his grappling hook and fired it at the rafters. "It isn't your responsibility--"

"No, but it's my job to help you, and if you need help tracking down a guy, by golly, I'll help," Tim said firmly as they both climbed onto the roof and started running back into town.

"I'll send you his files when we get back," Bruce said after a moment.

"What can you tell me that's not in his file?" Tim asked.

"It's all in the file."

«←¦→»

"Would you like more coffee before I go upstairs for the night, Master Timothy?"

"What? Oh, yeah, sure," the teen said distractedly. "Good night, Alfred."

The butler sighed. "You've managed to learn some of Master Bruce's worst habits."

"They're the ones I have the most use for." He sipped from his freshly refilled mug. "You know, this guy was good. He had fifteen recorded kills before he turned thirteen. And you can bet he had some unrecorded or collateral kills." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "And almost all of the targets were, on some level, corrupt. He almost seems to have had a moral code with what contracts he accepted."

"Do try to remember that it's a school night, Master Timothy."

"Yeah, of course." He took another sip of coffee. "And Deathstroke just... found him at the circus."

"Good night, Timothy." Alfred ascended the staircase to the manor above.

"Profiled for a month before joining the Team. Had a knack for making trouble, tendency to run his mouth, reportedly disappeared in the middle of missions... That's a Robin, all right," he chuckled. "Wait, Bruce has his eating habits on here? That's not... weird at all..." He frowned in thought. "Computer, pull up files on Timothy Drake." The pages blipped onto the screen, and Tim scrolled through them. "Computer, search keyword: 'eating'." A new page appeared with the keyword highlighted. "Oh my gosh, that is super creepy," he muttered, rubbing his face in his hand. He read a bit more, shaking his slowly. "The more you know." Then he grinned. "Computer, pull up files on Bruce Wayne and search keyword: 'eating'." The computer obliged.

"You've gotta be kidding me." He lifted his head to the floors above him. "Bruce, you suck!" he yelled. "You didn't try to separate  _me_ from Robin on my file! How come  _you_  get to have a file for Bruce  _and_ Batman? And what's this 'caviar' nonsense? You hate caviar!" He turned back to the computer. "Yeesh.

"Now, how about we return to the man of the hour himself..." He closed the other files. "Why would this boyo intentionally leave a trail for Batsy? It's not like he needed the attention or the help. It wouldn't kill him to drop off the radar for a while. Heck, what if that's what this is? Maybe he realized that his obvious trail was attracting unwanted attention when someone he wasn't expecting to find him attacked him." He pulled up files on his last known location. "But he was bound to leave something when he left. Bruce would have noticed."

He shook his head and returned to the original file. "Let's go back to the bigger picture. What was he doing when he disappeared? Recorded locations... Town to town to town, not really staying anywhere for very long. Except... Gotham, of all places. He kept coming back here. Makes sense. Coming back somewhere he knows.

"But why would he risk facing the vengeance of the Big Bad Bat for... familiarity? He and Deathstroke were everywhere. They never stayed in one place long. There wasn't any pattern in where they went except the connections between contracts. So he came here for some reason. But what?  
  
"Computer, search keyword...." He thought for a moment. "'Associates'." A new page opened, and Tim scrolled past the images he recognized-- Deathstroke, Batman, the Team. "All right, let's see what you have for--" He stopped and stared at the image on the screen. He clicked on the image to clarify it, but it only confirmed his suspicion. "Steph?" he asked the empty cave.

«←¦→»

"What was John's real name?"

"What do you mean? That's his name."

"Not his real one. I think I know who he actually was, but I'd need to see him again. Do you have a picture of him somewhere? I need a picture of him. You  _have_ to have a picture of him."

"Tim, slow down. You're doing the thing again."

"I need to know if he is who I think he is! You've got to have a picture somewhere!"

"I do somewhere, but first, cool your jets. And sit down. You look like you skipped sleeping again last night."

"That's beside the point. Just get me a picture of him already! I think he was the first Robin!"

Stephanie nodded slowly, looking slightly confused. "Yeah...?"

It took Tim a moment to form a reply. "Wait... are you telling me... he was? And you knew?"

"I  _met_ him as Robin," she chuckled. "You're telling me that you, mister super-high-IQ, didn't figure it out yourself?" He started to reply, but she cut him off. "Okay, that was low of me. Don't beat yourself up about it. I just assumed you figured it out and were just playing it cool, or something."

Tim buried his face in his hands and flung his head back. "I can't believe I actually  _met_ the guy, not once but  _twice_ , and I didn't even realize! He was right there, and all I did was give him weird looks and awkward conversation! The stuff I could've asked him, and I asked if he came here often!"

"Did you not hear what I just said?"

"And to think Batman was tracking his movement all over the country! He came back here  _over_ and  _over_!"

"The part about not beating yourself up?"

"And he went by his freaking  _middle name_! The  _nerve_ of this guy!"

"Tim, shut up!" Steph yelled. He met her gaze sheepishly. "I get that you're mad at yourself. But it's not like he was running around throwing punches and doing backflips, or anything."

"I just--"

"Tim."

"All right, fine. But do you even know his real name?"

"Duh, his name is--" She stopped. "Wait, you said he went by his--?"

"Middle name, yeah," Tim finished. "His name is Richard John Grayson. Went by Dick."

"Now I see why he told me to call him John," she chuckled.

"Didn't you say you met him... what, four years ago?"

"Give or take, yeah."

"Right as he was starting as Robin." He ran his hands through his hair, leaving them resting on top of his head and staring at the ceiling as he paced back and forth. "Let's see. He would have come less frequently while he was with the Team, which was about..."

"He joined before he met me."

"What?"

"He joined the team before he met me. Like, a couple weeks or something. He told me."

"Okay, okay, so... he would've stopped coming for a while after the fiasco with the team, which would have been... what, a little less than a year later?"

"He left a note for me... sure, a few months after. Said he'd be under the radar for a while and wouldn't be able to talk to me much. He still came by occasionally, though. Every couple weeks." She raised an eyebrow. "Why are you asking?"

"Bruce has been looking for him and can't find where he went."

Her other eyebrow lifted as well. " _Bruce_  can't find him?"

"That's what I said. We think something might have happened to him, but we can't be sure. I wanted to find out more about the guy to see if we could get into his head, see if we can figure out who'd want to get at him." Upon seeing Steph's concern, he added, "Or if he'd want to just disappear and where he'd go."

"He'd tell me if he was going to do something like that, though," she said uncertainly, sitting in a plush maroon recliner.

This time, Tim raised his eyebrow. "If you think he was ever completely open with anyone, you've got another thing coming."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steph asked defensively.

"Well, for one, he was still technically working with Deathstroke when he was Robin. He betrayed the team before Batman, the World's Greatest Detective, could figure it out, and as far as we can figure,  _also_ betrayed Deathstroke," he said bluntly.

"He did  _what_?"

Tim shook his head. "Long story, but the point is that we need to find him before someone else does and does something we all regret."

"I hope he's okay." Her head hung low, making her seem tiny in the giant chair.

"He knows how to handle himself," Tim reassured her. "Even if he is in trouble, he knows exactly what he's doing."

She sighed heavily. "Yeah, I guess you've got a point." She couldn't help but smirk at Tim. "He is a Robin, after all."

"You're going to rub that in for the rest of eternity, aren't you?"

"Absolutely."

"It actually explains a lot, though."

"Yep."

"Including his rooftop visits."

" _Especially_  his rooftop visits."

«←¦→»

"What can I getcha?"

"I'm actually looking for someone. Have you seen this kid hanging around here lately?"  
  
"Hmm... looks kinda familiar. He your... grandson or something?"

"Sure. Let's go with that. Have you seen him?"

"Well, it's not the best picture."

He sighed and placed a twenty-dollar bill next to the photograph.

"Oh, that kid. Yeah, he was here. Got a ginger ale, if I remember right."

"That would be him. When did you see him last?"

"I mean..."

He slid another bill over.

"He stopped by every couple weeks for a while. Haven't seen him in a month or so, though."

"Thank you." He stood and turned to the door.

"You want a drink before you leave?"  
  
"No, thank you. I'd like to get going as soon as possible."

"One last thing."

He stopped. "Yes?"  
  
"What happened to your eye, if you don't mind me asking?"

He stared at the bartender for a moment. Once he judged there to be enough tension, he answered, "I'll be going now."

"Hope you find your grandkid," the bartender called as the door opened, sending in sounds of the streets outside, then slammed shut again. "Watch that the door doesn't slam," he muttered.


	4. First Encounters

"You're awake."

"I hadn't noticed."

"You healed remarkably quickly."

"I recover quick. Quickly. Whatever."

" _Inhumanly_ so."

"I hadn't noticed."

"You're enhanced like Deathstroke."

"Figure that one out yourself?"

"Who sent assassins after you?"

"Who said someone sent them? Maybe I just decided to trigger some stab-happy murder ninjas."

"Why would they come after you? And why would they leave you alive?"

"Maybe they just wanted to teach me a lesson."

"They're assassins, not cheap hired thugs."

"Define  _thugs._ And  _hired_. And while we're at it, define  _cheap_. You seem like a guy with a big budget."

Batman sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his first sign of irritation thus far. "Do you never answer questions with a real response?"

"I don't like to, no. It's far too boring that way."

"Of course it is." He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "You've been working with Deathstroke for some time now."

"You're not wrong."

"He trained you to become a mercenary, an assassin."

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner."

"And you never learned to have proper social interaction, might I add," the Dark Knight growled.

"And that's a twofer! Cheryl, show the clever man what he won!"

"You might take this more seriously if you knew what was on the line."

"Really? What?" He sounded genuinely curious.

"Unless something changes, you're headed to Blackgate Penitentiary for life."

He scoffed. "I'll get out in the first week. Watch me."

"Then perhaps Belle Reve is better suited for your skills?"

His change in demeanor was immediate. The blood drained from his face, and when he regained his composure and spoke, his tone was outraged. "I'm a minor! You can't do that! Where's my trial?"

"You've murdered at least fifteen people before you reached your teens. I'm sure we can make an exception to the usual process."

"That's not how it works! What happened to 'innocent until proven guilty'? I have my rights!"

"You forfeited those rights when you committed fifteen murders of the first degree."

"That's not how rights work!" he insisted. Then he frowned slightly as he thought about what he said. "Is it?" he added uncertainly.

"You want to bet?"

The teen glared at the restraints pinning him to his bed. "Something tells me there's an ultimatum coming," he said resignedly.

"You have an extensive skillset involving stealth, tactical infiltration, and combat. Given the proper instruction, you could help me and others."

When he didn't continue, the teen asked tentatively, "With what exactly?"

"You'd work with me to fight crime in the city. In time, you'd earn more leniency, then your freedom. Until then, you'd be closely monitored to ensure you hold your end of the bargain."

"Sounds like those deals where you turn in your friends and you get to walk. And get witness protection." His eyes lifted to look at his captor. "Wait, do I get witness protection? I'd rather not get murdered, thankyouverymuch."

"I'm sure you can handle yourself," the dark figure said with what looked like a gleam in his eye. "The question is, are you in?"

«←¦→»

"Batman," Aqualad greeted as the shadowy figure became visible through the golden light.

Kid Flash noticed the small figure behind him. "Hey, who's that?"

The Caped Crusader turned his body slightly to allow his protégé to step forward into view. "Team, this is your new member: Robin."

There was a quiet moment as the groups mutually assessed each other. The new arrival stood slightly behind and to the side of Batman, arms crossed and eyes narrowed slightly. His costume was mostly black and a deep red, with a black domino mask over his upper face. His cape was black on the outside with the same dark maroon color as his shirt on the inside, and small yellow-orange R rested over his heart. The team stood on either side of Aqualad, each member in the process of their own analysis.

Miss Martian was the one to break the tension. She flew forward with a warm smile and lifted her arms in a friendly gesture. "Welcome to the team! I'm Miss Martian, but you can call me M'gann." She turned back to the rest of the team and pointed at Artemis. "This is--"

Kid Flash darted forward, wrapping his arm around M'gann and jabbing a thumb toward his chest. "Kid Flash, fastest boy alive. That's Aqualad, Superboy, and Artemis." He pointed to each respective member as he spoke. "She shoots arrows, he does cool junk with water, he punches stuff, and she flies and does other cool stuff with her martian powers. Me? I run fast."

Robin looked at Kid Flash for a moment. Batman watched him as he stepped forward tensely, hand outstretched. "Pleased to meet you," he said curtly as the redhead shook it.

"So what're we doing?" Artemis asked. "Is there a mission?"

"For now, you're waiting for an assignment. Until then, you're free to do whatever you deem fit." He turned to leave.

Robin stepped forward with a hand outstretched to touch the dark knight's shoulder. "Wait, you're just leaving me?" he asked quietly, some concern evident in his tone.

"What are we supposed to do?" Artemis asked, not apparently hearing his question. "Give him a tour?"

Batman turned just his head to reply. "Yes." In a quieter voice, he said, "You'll be fine." Then he walked into the Zeta tube and disappeared into the golden void.

Everyone stared at Robin's back for a moment. Then Kid Flash grinned. "So what do you want to do?"

Robin stiffened for a moment, then turned around. "Well... what do you guys usually do? I don't want to... throw off your... feng shui, or anything."

Aqualad smiled kindly. "We can do whatever fits you. It is your first time here, after all."

The wiry teen rubbed his upper arm, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Well, what do you guys usually do?" he asked.

"Whatever we feel like," Kid Flash answered. "We could watch TV, eat, do a tour, eat, spar--"

"Don't say 'eat' again."

"--or... not eat."

"All I've been doing for the past month is spar. I need a change of pace." He looked up at the high ceiling for no apparent reason. "What is there to watch?"

Kid Flash couldn't help but glance up to see if he could see whatever he was looking at, but quickly looked back at Robin. "We have Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, and whatever else you might ever want to watch stuff on. You pretty much have your pick of movies and shows."

Robin's gaze shifted from the ceiling to the floor. "I'm good with whatever."

Kid Flash crossed his arms. "Do you even have something you like to watch?"

Robin just shrugged and stared at the wall somewhere over the speedster's shoulder. "I mean, I watch documentaries, but I'm fine with whatever."

"Documentaries." The redhead stared at him in disbelief. "You watch documentaries."

He shrugged again uncomfortably, still refusing to make eye contact. "They're interesting. And actually have some application to real life."

"That's it." Wally grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward the TV room. "We're watching a movie." He didn't feel the dark-haired teen tense up at his touch or notice him looking around wildly for a way to squirm out of his grip.

The rest of the team followed them into the living room, where the speedster pushed their new member onto the couch and turned the TV on. "Are you sure we shouldn't do something more productive, like showing him where literally anything is?" Artemis asked with her arms crossed.

Kid Flash waved her off. "Kitchen's right there. That's all he'll need for today." M'gann joined Robin on the couch as Aqualad and Superboy took their own seats. The speedster started looking through the movies they had on disc. "What about... Big Hero 6?"

"For this kid? For his first actual movie?" Artemis sat in the club chair next to the couch. "I think not."

"It's not my firstmovie," Robin grumbled.

"If you only ever watch documentaries, it's your first movie," she replied firmly.

"Princess Bride?"

She glanced at Robin. "Too sappy."

He grinned and held up a DVD case. "Robin Hood?"

Artemis rolled her eyes. "If that makes you happy."

"No." Not expecting the objection, everyone looked at Robin in surprise. "Not that one."

Kid Flash shrugged. "Alrighty then." He continued looking. "Alien... Predator... Alien Versus Predator..." He grinned as his eyes settled on six movies. He held up one of them triumphantly. "Star Wars, baby!"

"That would work," Artemis said with a shrug. He lifted an eyebrow but put the disc in the player and darted around the room, turning off all the lights. He sat down between Miss Martian and Robin with an armful of candy and popcorn as the title screen appeared.

"You didn't even bother to ask if I've seen this before," Robin said as he was suddenly handed more boxes of candy than he knew what to do with.

Kid Flash turned to him, his eyebrow raised. " _Have_  you seen this before?" he asked curiously.

Robin smirked at the television. "Nope. Play away."

"Hmph." After a brief staredown with the younger teen, he hit 'enter' on the remote, and the saga began.

«←¦→»

"How's your time with the team been?"

"It was all right, I guess."

The caped crusader lifted his eyebrow. "All right?"

He shrugged. "I mean, it's cool and all, but I've missed Gotham. It has this element of chaos, unexpectedness, that just keeps you on your toes."

"Then I think you'll enjoy tonight."

He frowned slightly. "Why do you say that?"

"I need to discuss a case with Gordon, but I need someone on patrol while we're busy."

"Are you saying--" He stopped himself to think about it for another moment. "Are you saying I get free reign? I can just do whatever? And I can, like--"

"Don't make me reconsider."

"No, no, I just-- You'll be on coms?"

"I'll be a call away any time you need me."

"Would that be for, like, if something interesting happens, or if I need help with a really big problem?"

"If you can handle it yourself, handle it yourself. If not, it would be good if you called  _before_ you got in over your head."

"Sounds all right to me. You go do that, and I'll just take care of this." He rubbed his hands together. "Goody."

He pulled out his grappling hook as he heard Batman fire his and go off to talk to the commissioner.

"What have you got for me tonight, Gotham?" He fired it at the billboard across the street and swung across, flipping in midair and landing with a flourish. "Supervillain plot?" The gravel under his feet crunched as he took off running. "Bank robbery?" He jumped across the gap between two buildings, and the flat but rough new surface snagged slightly on his cape as he rolled to his feet. "Mugging?" His gaze shifted to a line of smoke drifting lazily toward the sky a few blocks away. "Or a fire." A grin spread across his face. "I'm always down for a challenge."

It took him less than a minute to reach the source of the smoke: a car accident. It was a bad one, with one of the cars almost completely crushed. People were gathering around one of the vehicles, the more damaged of the two, but they appeared unable to get very close due to the flames that were growing larger and larger in the engine of the other car.

"She's still in there!" someone shouted frantically. Without another moment's hesitation, he fired his grappling hook across the street and jumped. His swing landed him just past the edge of the crowd, where he rolled to soften his landing and took in the situation.

The front of the car with the woman still inside was partially pinned under the front of the truck with which it had collided, which was a problem because the vehicle on top was now roaring with flames. The woman appeared to be largely incapacitated, possibly unconscious and likely pinned under the dashboard. The drivers-side door was toward him, and it seemed to have mostly fallen off in the force of the collision. The only thing holding it in place was the opening mechanism. He could open it (technically make it fall off), unfasten her seatbelt, unpin her if need be, and get her out before you could say, "Lickety split."

Okay, maybe a bit longer than that.

He lifted his cape to shield himself from the flames and darted forward to the door. He jerked the handle back, and the door fell to the ground with a loud clatter. The dashboard of the car was much lower than it was probably manufactured to be, cracked and probably fully capable of breaking any legs unfortunate enough to be positioned correctly (incorrectly?) under it. It didn't seem to have done so, thank Fortuna, but it still appeared to have pinned her legs at least partially. He would have to somehow lift it as he pulled out the unconscious woman.

He  _did_ say he was down for a challenge.

"All right, lady, work with me," he said quietly as he unfastened her seatbelt and placed his hands under the dashboard. "I might be stronger than a lot of people, but not  _that_ much stronger." He braced himself firmly against the ground and lifted with all his might.

It budged slightly, and he grunted with effort as he heard it crack from the new pressure. It was moving, but it was moving too slowly. The flames were growing larger and closer by the moment, and he couldn't keep lifting it much longer.

"Just a bit more," he grunted, though whether he was reassuring the woman or himself, he wasn't sure. "Almost got it." He carefully removed one hand from the dashboard, leaving the other straining under its full weight. His muscles burned as he reached for the woman's arm. "Come on..." he muttered. His jaw clenched with the effort as his fingers curled around her shoulder, and with a last-ditch burst of energy, he dragged her out of the crushed vehicle. The dashboard fell to the floor as he dropped it and curled his arms around the woman to keep her from hitting the asphalt and further injuring herself.

He was about to start congratulating himself when he glanced back and saw the flames of the burning truck. "Get back!" he yelled to the gathered crowd. "It's gonna blow!" They screamed and retreated, and there was enough time to realize that he wouldn't be able to pull the woman far enough away from the vehicles before--

_KaBOOM._

Everything fell under the shroud of the ringing in his ears. He'd barely had time to lift his cape over the two of them, and he was pretty sure he'd burned the back of his neck at the very least. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton soaked in gasoline, and maybe a few lit matches. When he mustered the effort to open his eyes, he could tell the woman, blonde and wearing sky blue medical scrubs, was not in good condition. She seemed to be unconscious, and there was blood on her face and clothes. It wasn't an awful amount, but it certainly wasn't good, and there could be any amount of internal damage that he couldn't see.

He inhaled sharply through his teeth and forced himself to his feet. "Ma'am, can you hear me?" He crouched next to her, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. "Ma'am?" She didn't respond. With a resigned sigh, he slid his arms under her and lifted her as best he could, then carried her out of danger of the burning engine. By now, an ambulance had arrived, and EMTs took her from his admittedly shaky arms and put her on a stretcher.

"Are you sure you don't need a checkup yourself?" one of the medics asked as he walked beside them to ensure the woman at least got to the ambulance all right.

He waved his hand in the air dismissively, shaking his head. "I'm fine. I've dealt with much worse."

The EMT raised her eyebrow skeptically. "Those are two very different statements."

"I'll be fine." He stepped forward to stand beside the woman as they prepared to lift her into the ambulance. He looked at her face and was surprised to see her eyes were open.

"What happened?" she asked weakly through her oxygen mask.

"You had an accident," the medic by her head informed her. "We're taking you to the hospital now."

"My-- My daughter," she mumbled. "I need to see my daughter."

The medic nodded reassuringly. "We'll find her, but right now, you need to--"

"Where is she?" the vigilante teen asked. He seemed a little shaky to the trained emergency responders, but he didn't appear to have any concern for his own welfare.

The medic admired his chutzpah, but she knew what could happen if he decided to go and do something stupid to possibly worsen his potential injuries. "After something like that, you shouldn't be--"

"I'm  _fine_ ," he snapped. He stepped forward. "Where is your daughter?" he asked the woman more gently.

She gripped his hand tightly. "She-- We have an apartment by Martin's Deli. Number 16 on the third floor."

"I'll find her," he reassured. "Do you want me to bring her to see you, miss...?"

She nodded. "Crystal. And make sure you tell her: the code word is 'mango'."

He looked confused, but squeezed her hand gently. "We'll come see you soon." Then the medics put her into the ambulance, and he turned to the one that kept asking if he was all right. "Are you taking her to Gotham General?" She nodded. "I should be there sometime in the next hour." Abruptly, he pulled out his grappling hook and took off.

"Thanks for the help, Robin," he could barely hear her say.

Snow started to drift from the sky as he ran from rooftop to rooftop, searching his memory for where the establishment was. He knew its vicinity, but narrowing it down was more of a challenge.

"Martin's Deli... Martin's Deli..." He paused, somewhat surprised by how long it didn't take to find it. "Oh. Right there." He crouched on the rooftop, his breath forming a faint vapor in the rapidly cooling air. "All right, there it is. Apartment, third floor..." He stared across the street into windows of various levels of apparent occupancy. "I'm not sure they'd appreciate a masked vigilante waltzing in the front door and asking which one's number 16."

"Come on, Waffles!" a little girl called. "I know you're up there." It took him a moment to find her, but a blonde girl around ten was leaning out her open window, calling for someone. "Waffles, come on! It's time for dinner!" A small tan cat jumped down from the fire escape above her. "There you are, Waffles!" She scooped it up in her arms and carried it inside, leaving her window open.

"That's as good a shot as any," he muttered, then grappled across the street.

"There you go, Waffles. Isn't that tasty? Mmm." He landed outside the window. "Mommy will be home soon. Then I can have dinner, too." He peeked in through the window. She was out of sight, probably in the other room.

After a moment of pensive hesitation, he stepped quietly into the apartment and looked around. The furniture was simple, basic but pleasant, and the area was lit by a couple table lamps and a ceiling light. On the wall were several framed pictures of the woman from the accident with who he guessed to be her daughter, the little girl he'd seen. Scattered across the floor and hanging from one of the walls were drawings that probably belonged to the girl, made with various art supplies. Crayons and markers rested next to a pile of blank pages and two Barbies in homemade clothes.

"Come on, let's play dress-up until mommy gets home!" He froze as the little girl reappeared in the doorway, holding the cat as only a child would with her arms around its belly. She stopped and stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open.

"Hi," he said carefully.

"Woah," she breathed.

"I'm Robin," he introduced himself gently.

"Are you a superhero?" she whispered, Waffles halfheartedly mewling complaint.

"Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that," he answered calmly, frantically trying to think of how to tell her what was happening. "Is your mom Crystal?" She nodded slowly, her lips still parted in awe. "She got hurt, and now she's in the hospital. I'm supposed to take you to go see her."

Her eyebrows lifted in concern, and the cat squirmed out of her grip. "Is she okay?"

"She should be soon," he answered with a confidence he distinctly lacked. "But we have to go now." He stepped forward.

"What's the code word?" she asked, taking a step back.

Right. The code word. That. "She said it was 'mango'."

The girl immediately plopped down on the couch and started putting on a pair of worn pink sneakers. Moments later, she stood up and grabbed a purple coat from a peg by the door. "I'm ready."

He stared at her in surprise. "That was fast."

"My mom told me what to do 'cause she doesn't think the city is safe," she answered, not looking away from Robin.

"Probably why you have a code word, too. Your mom is smart." He glanced at the window through which he'd come. "Can you--"

"I climb down that way all the time," she answered matter-of-factly, pushing past him. "I don't have to deal with the annoying old guy next door that way." She climbed out the window and gestured for him to hurry up.

"All right then," he chuckled. He climbed out after her.

"Come on, Waffles!" she called into the apartment. The cat jumped to the windowsill, then to the fire escape beside them, and she shut the window. "Let's go."

They went down the stairs, she lowered the ladder to the ground, and they climbed down. Then Robin realized something.

"I left my bike parked a couple blocks away," he admitted sheepishly.

"It's okay. We can walk."

"To my bike, or to the hospital?"

"To your bike," she said exasperatedly. "Is it a  _bike_  bike, or like a motorcycle?"

"Don't worry, it's a motorcycle." He started walking in that direction.

The girl skipped along beside him, her expression unreadable. "Cool."

"It is," he agreed. "It's a really nice one, too. I especially like it 'cause it matches my costume."

"So it's black?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'll have you know that it's not just black."

"Oh, yeah, you're wearing a red shirt. Big whoop."

He rested his hands on his hips as he walked. "You have a lot of sass for a person of your size."

"And you have a lot of gadgets. We all compensate in our own ways."

"Aren't you a little..." He searched for the right word. " _...little_  to talk like that?"

"I heard my mom say it once. I thought it sounded grown up, so I remembered it." She shrugged. "I've been waiting to use it for a while now."

"Huh." He stopped, and she kept walking for a moment before she realized he'd gone into an alley, where a sleek black and red motorcycle was parked just out of sight. She caught the helmet he tossed at her and put it on. "I can't see," she said flatly.

"Here." He lifted the tinted visor as he passed her, wheeling his bike onto the street.

"Thanks." She stood beside it, arms folded, as he got on and revved the engine. "Aren't you supposed to wear a helmet, though?"

He shrugged. "I would, but I only have that one, and you need it more than I do." He patted the seat behind him. "Hop on."

She climbed on. When he didn't start driving right away, she tilted her head and glared at him. "Why aren't you going?"

"You might want to hold on," he answered with a tiny smile.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Happy?"

"Sure." He revved the engine again, and they took off.

«←¦→»

"How is she?"

"I'm sorry to say there hasn't been any progress. She hasn't woken up since the accident, and we can't say she's any closer now than she was two weeks ago."

"Have you tried waking her up yourselves?"

"We're afraid that might cause more harm than good. She's already had a lot of severe damage to several organs, including her brain."

"Yeah, I know." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks anyway." He turned to enter the room.

"Thank  _you._ "

He stopped, his hand resting on the handle. "Why?"

"For bringing her to see her mother. I know you're not the only one who brings her, but you have other things to do, and you still come at least once a week. I don't know that someone your age should be doing what you're doing, but I do know you're doing something good."

He smiled slightly and nodded. "Of course."

"I'll let you go in," the nurse said with a warm smile.

He opened the door and stepped inside. The little girl was in her usual spot, cross-legged on a plush chair beside the bed.

"...and we're learning about the solar system in school," she was saying. "Mrs. Richardson taught us a funny way to remember the planets, and I thought of you. It's 'My Very Excited Mother Just Served Us Nachos.' Or 'Nine Pizzas.' Nobody can agree on whether Pluto is a planet. I think it should be one, 'cause what did Pluto do? It's going around the sun, isn't it?" She smiled at the teen as he stood beside her. "Hey, mom, guess what? Robin is teaching me..." She frowned in thought.

"Judo," he finished for her.

"Yeah! Judo! He says if a bad guy tries to hurt me, I can just--" She twisted around, gesturing wildly with her arms and almost hitting Robin. "--and WHAM!"

"Why don't you give her the picture you drew for her?" Robin suggested, laughing slightly at the near impact.

"Oh yeah!" She picked up a piece of paper from the bedside table and held it up. "It's you and me as princesses." She pointed to different parts as she spoke. "That's you, that's me, there's the evil dragon, and that's Robin fighting it."

He could feel his face redden slightly. "How about you put it on the wall with the others?"

She grabbed the roll of tape from the table and took a piece far too big for what she was doing. She held the paper against the wall and taped one of the top corners, then took another piece and repeated the process. Once she deemed her work complete, she took a step back with her hands on her hips to admire the art exhibit that the otherwise plain wall had become.

"Think she'll like them?" she asked hopefully.

"I think she'll love them, Steph," Robin answered with a hand on her shoulder. "They're perfect."


End file.
